by Layton Green
“They won’t stay with us much longer,” Yasmina said. “We’re a heavy burden to them, and they have to return to their burrows.”
Caleb lifted his head to stare at her. “And you know this how?”
“I just . . . do.”
Will pondered the cryptic nature of her response. Yasmina looked different to him, as if she had both hardened, yet also become more serene. The hardened part he understood—an ordeal like hers would either kill you or strengthen you—but the new tranquility surprised him. Had Elegon imbued her with some sort of supernatural power?
He urged his mole forward, parallel to the darvish girl. He could feel a gentle warmth radiating out from her body. “Thank you.”
Her tail twitched, and her return smile lit the tunnel. Will placed his palm on his chest. “I’m Will Blackwood.”
She looked confused, and he repeated his name. Her eyes brightened, and she put her palm on her own chest. My name is Lishavysginthkoth.
Will chuckled and said, “How about Lisha?”
Her black hair swished as her head made a sinuous rolling motion which, coupled with her smile, Will took for approval. He wished the armband worked both ways, though he had the feeling she understood basic English, the common tongue in the Realm. Maybe she had picked it up from the delvers. “Where are you taking us? Can you help us reach the outside?”
We are journeying to my home. My people know a path to the surface, an ancient way. We will guide you.
“I hope so,” he muttered, not wanting to think about wandering the Darklands alone. But her words raised a brittle hope, and for the first time in many weeks, he felt as if the smothering cloud of depression had started to lift. Then a faint note from the horn of the delver search party sounded behind them, his stomach churned, and the cloud returned to spit freezing rain in his face.
Lisha glanced back. We must not falter. It will take us two days to reach my people.
Will heard her, but it took him a moment to process the words. Two days of constant pursuit, two days to reach an uncertain fate with the darvish.
Two days in the Darklands.
-36-
Val glanced skyward again. The descending winged creature had disappeared. He could only hope it had retreated with the appearance of the street gang, and wasn’t circling behind them for another approach.
The leader was not the same man who had killed Mari, but Val’s stomach still clenched with rage at the sight of the black sash. It clenched even tighter, this time with fear, at the sight of the gypsy wizardess in the green and yellow patchwork coat drifting closer to Adaira.
“I warn you,” Adaira said, “to back away.”
The wizardess cackled, put her feet on the ground, and raised her staff. Adaira put a palm out, Val heard a rush of wind, and the man in the black sash tumbled backwards.
“She’s a wizard, too,” someone called out.
“Not nice, girlie,” the wizardess said, unaffected by Adaira’s spell. She curled a gnarled finger, and Adaira started drifting towards her. Adaira struggled, but couldn’t stop the forward motion, as if caught in a tractor beam.
The leader scrambled out of the garbage pile in which he had landed, pulling fish guts out of his hair. “We’ve seen yer face before,” he said, “in the scrying pool. Yer the daughter of Lord Alistair.”
The men behind him, perhaps a dozen strong and all wearing black sashes, shifted at the news. “Ye know how much she’s worth?” one said. “Buy a castle on St. Charles, we will.”
“Ye’ll buy nothing but whores and grog,” said another, followed by a rough laugh.
A burly man with an eye patch stepped forward. “I say let her go. Lord Alistair will kill us all fer this, if ’e finds out.”
The black-sashed leader laughed. “We’re already dead. Take ’er alive, Leega,” he said to the wizardess. “And no need to be gentle.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Gowan whispered. A spark appeared in the darkness beside Val, from the flint igniter all pyromancers carried. The spark expanded with a pop, forming into a sphere of fire that whooshed down the alley, striking one of the thugs in the chest and setting him ablaze.
“There’s more of ’em!”
“Leega!” the leader cried. “Light!”
Adaira fell to the ground in a heap, and the wizardess made a sweeping motion with her staff that caused the alley to burst into light, negating the effect of the Shadow Veil.
“Three of ’em!” one of the black-sashed men cried.
“Wizard whelps,” the leader said, “hiding in the shadows. Men, hold ’em off while Leega takes the girl.”
A few of the men raised their bows, the rest stones or bottles. They took aim at Val, Gowan, and Dida. Val raised his Wizard Shield alongside the others, deflecting the projectiles, but they were forced into defensive position and unable to attack. A full-fledged wizard would not have been so helpless, he knew. Still, it chilled him that these black sash gypsies were not more afraid.
Out of the corner of his eye, Val saw Leega resume pulling Adaira towards her, and wondered what would happen when she caught her. Adaira was squirming and trying to use her magic to escape, but Leega was too strong.
As he used Wizard Shield to deflect the missiles, Val tried to think of a spell that might turn the tide. Gowan fired off another two fireballs in between the rounds of projectiles, but the thugs were ready for them, and dove to the side. Val tried a powerful Wind Push, but all it did was drain him and toss a few of the gypsies into a heap, from which they brushed off and recovered.
The barrage of missiles grew thicker, Val grew weaker, and he worried they would have to leave the alley or risk losing their Wizard Shields. He desperately needed more spells in his repertoire, more access to his well of power, more magical endurance. The four of them were far from being real wizards, and might pay for their hubris with their lives.
Dida stepped forward. “Create a Wind Push, both of you. On my count. One, two, three.”
Val had no idea what Dida was doing, but he followed the more experienced mage’s instruction, putting everything he had into a Wind Push that, along with Gowan’s, tumbled the entire group of gypsies backwards. Only Leega held firm, still drawing Adaira to her. The two women were less than ten feet apart, Adaira fighting to free herself while Leega cackled and twirled her staff.
Dida ran three paces in each direction, tracing his finger in the air as he went, creating the outline of a translucent blue square the size of a garage door. When finished, he whispered an unfamiliar word, then ushered Val and Gowan behind the barrier. Val took a leap of faith and obeyed, just before a volley of arrows struck the magical wall and bounced off.
“Well played!” Gowan shouted, stepping just to the side of the blue wall and releasing another Firesphere. It was smaller than his others, but caught one of the black-sashed men on the leg, engulfing him in flame.
Dida had given them a defensive gift, but they were still trapped behind the Rune Shield, their magic growing weaker. Val watched, helpless, as Adaira drifted to within five feet of the sorceress, and then three, and then one. Leega crowed and reached for her neck, her hand expanding into a set of pincers large enough to take Adaira by the throat and drag her away.
The leader stalked towards Adaira holding a short sword. Val had a flashback to Mari, and started to run to Adaira’s aid, but another volley of projectiles pinned him behind Dida’s magical barrier. Val seethed in frustration.
“Get ready to leave, laddies,” the leader said, producing a rag in his other hand. “A whiff of this and she won’t remember ’er name.”
Leega reached for Adaira’s throat with her pincer. As soon as the enlarged claw made contact with Adaira’s choker, arcs of black lightning leapt out from the piece of jewelry and swarmed over the gypsy sorceress. She disintegrated in an instant, flesh and bones turned to dust.
Val stepped back in shock.
Spirit fire.
Adaira looked as surprised as everyone else, but she
recovered in a hurry, whipping out the silver handcuffs and tossing them at the hands of the leader. They encircled his wrists and tightened. She tossed the other pair at his feet, and he toppled over.
The remaining thugs were stunned by the sudden turn of events. Gowan hurtled another Fire Sphere, Val put everything he had into a fierce Wind Push, and Adaira poured her fury into a spell that caused the skin of the black-sashed gypsy nearest her to erupt into boils that burst and oozed pus. He screamed and tried to stumble away, but Adaira raised a hand and he flew headlong into a wall, his skull crunching into the bricks.
The rest of the men scattered into the night. Gowan walked over and planted a foot on the leader’s chest. He started babbling, and Adaira cast a spell that muted his speech.
Val saw the fire in her eyes, and he glanced at the broken, boil-ridden gypsy crumpled at the base of the wall. Maybe Adaira’s not as sheltered as I thought.
“What shall we do with him?” Gowan asked, nudging the leader.
“We’ll leave him on Canal,” Adaira grimly said, “for the Guard to find.”
Val pointed at her choker. “You didn’t know, did you?”
Adaira swallowed and looked at the pile of dust at her feet, the remains of the sorceress. She pressed her lips together and shook her head.
Val took her hand. “Looks like your father didn’t leave you unprotected. The necklace must react to danger.”
She squeezed his hand and then touched the choker gingerly with her fingers, as if afraid it would erupt again. “It was a gift for my debutante ball.”
“What’s the significance of the black sash?” Val asked, thinking of the man in the green top hat snuffing Mari’s life like dampening a wick.
“Gypsy street gang,” Gowan said, and spat. “Vermin.”
“The mercenaries of the Revolution,” Adaira added.
Val wanted to question the leader, but it would be too awkward in front of the others. He quelled the urge to stand the man up and thrust his face against Adaira’s choker, instead giving him a kick to the face that snapped his head to the side and glazed his eyes.
I’ll find you, he said, an image of Mari lying in a bloody heap crowding his mind. If it’s within my power, I’ll find you.
They floated the leader a few streets over to Canal, leaving him in a heap on the side of the road for one of the Protectorate patrols to find. After that, they returned to the safety of the coterie for a nightcap. Everyone needed a stiff drink.
As they retired to the rooftop, surrounded by the beautiful spires, Val told them about the winged creature he had seen. None of them had any idea what it was, and Gowan’s expression was disbelieving.
“I’ll supply an anonymous tip to the investigator,” Adaira said. She shook her hair loose from her braid and slumped in her seat. “That was a strong rogue wizard,” she said, the waver in her voice betraying her frayed nerves from the encounter. “If she hadn’t grabbed my choker . . . .” She took a deep breath. “Unrest is growing. In the past, one such as she would never show her face so near the city center.”
“But have measures not been taken?” Gowan asked. “Travel restrictions, checkpoints, village patrols, executions?”
“That’s why unrest is growing,” Val said drily.
“But why?” Gowan questioned, as if truly perplexed. “They have no hope of prevailing.”
“Loss of hope is a powerful motivator.”
No one responded. Dida looked uneasy, as if uncomfortable embroiling himself in the problems of a foreign land. “I was outside the History of the Protectorate Museum yesterday,” he said. “A woman in a gray caftan immolated herself in front of a crowd. She bore three blue dots on her forehead.”
“The Devla Cult,” Adaira said, sparking Val’s interest. He had been wondering about the import of that scene on Bohemian Isle. “As if belief in a fictitious pantheon is not foolish enough, the followers of Devla believe in a single deity who they believe will lift their people out of misery.”
“They should work to lift themselves,” Gowan said, “rather than entrust in a mythical being.”
Adaira murmured her agreement, but Dida kept a neutral expression, causing Val to wonder about his belief system. He found the prevailing atheism of the Realm fascinating. A culture that had no problem believing in magic, but which eschewed the concept of the divine?
But he understood the reasoning. The wizards believed religion to be antithetical to their survival, and had implanted an atheistic belief system into the psyche of the people. It reminded him of the repression of religion by the Marxist-Leninist states back home.
Which hadn’t gone over too well.
Then again, they didn’t have a wizard oligarchy in charge.
“I believe we should proceed more intelligently against this foe, whatever it is,” Adaira said.
“I second that,” Val muttered, though he had been hoping she would abandon her mission.
He had to admit, however, that he didn’t relish the thought of that winged black thing dropping down on him on his way home one night.
“Do you think the black sash gypsies could be involved?” Val asked.
“I suppose it’s possible,” she said. “If they had a wealthy enough backer.”
“Your proposed course of action?” Gowan asked.
“We need to discover the nature of this creature Val spotted,” Adaira said. “It can only be the assassin. And once we determine what it is, we kill it. Before it kills us.”
-37-
Soon after Will and the others passed through the rune door, they entered a cavern with a swift stream flowing through it. Yasmina asked them to wait at the water’s edge, then started to lift Elegon’s body off the mole. Will and Tamás helped her ease the fallen wilder off the mount and into the stream.
Yasmina held Elegon’s hand before she let go, murmuring her goodbyes and then watching the body drift through the cavern and into the mountain. Without a word, she drank from the stream and rinsed her face, then used Elegon’s walking stick to push to her feet.
Caleb lay on his back to ease the searing pain. After everyone drank their fill of water, they carried on. Every thirty minutes the delver search party would sound a long note on their horn, trying to break the morale of their quarry.
And the strategy was working, at least for Will, until the moles put enough distance between them for the sound of the horn to fade away. He felt a whisper of relief, right until they reached the next underground stream and the moles stopped moving.
Yasmina dismounted and stroked the head of her mount. “They won’t go any further. They’re exhausted and have to return to their families.”
Will felt the edges of panic creeping in as everyone dismounted. It had only been a few hours since the last horn blast. Surely they couldn’t outpace the delvers on foot.
The moles wriggled their star-shaped facial protrusions, lapped from the stream, then squeezed through a hole in the wall and disappeared. Lisha noticed the party’s defeated expressions and began talking.
The dwarves will outpace us, but I have a few tricks. We must not delay. Come.
Will relayed the message, and no one needed any urging. They walked for what felt like half a day, until blisters formed on the soles of their feet and Will felt light-headed from hunger. Caleb was feverish with pain and barely managing. Everyone took turns supporting him with an arm.
Even Dalen was quiet on the journey. It was unspoken that the party needed to conserve every ounce of energy if they hoped to survive.
At one point, after walking alongside a shallow sump the rich green color of wet grass, Lisha left to find food. She said the present tunnel continued in a straight line and that she would soon return.
Still, it was a nerve-wracking journey through the eerie, mineral-lit terrain without their guide. They all remembered the terror of the battle with the darrowgars, and the lake monster that had come to claim the bodies. Who knew what else was lying in wait in the Darklands?
; Lisha returned without incident, running back with her arms full of freshly killed fish. Everyone tore into the cold flesh, spitting out bones and finishing every last morsel. It wasn’t pretty, but it gave them the energy to keep walking. Will estimated they had been traveling a full day, and wondered how they would last for another. He knew the delvers wouldn’t stop to rest.
An hour later, they heard the deep boom of the horn again. The sound was far in the distance, barely audible, but the party exchanged glances of fear.
The delvers were gaining ground.
So far, the scenery had been a blur of uniform, downward-sloping tunnels, but after passing through a series of intersecting corridors, Lisha guided them into a cavern with a waterfall so high they couldn’t see the top.
Follow me, the darvish said. Take a deep breath and do not panic.
Another horn blast, much closer, sounded behind them. Lisha waded into the pool below the waterfall, the water churned black from the falls, so cold it snatched Will’s breath away when he entered.
Just before the darvish girl reached the plunge point of the waterfall, she dove beneath the surface. Will looked back to make sure everyone was with him, then took a deep breath and followed her down. She dove deep beneath the waterfall, so deep Will’s ears started to hurt. When he saw the rocky bottom, he wondered what she planned to do—and then she disappeared.
After a moment of shock, he swam over and realized she had slipped into a narrow fissure. Will checked on Caleb and then pulled himself through, hoping Marek could fit through the hole.
Will kept expecting to pop out into a cavern, but the hole kept going, so long his lungs quivered inside him. There was no light, and he had to feel his way along the wall. At times a fish would brush against his face, and he quelled the urge to panic. It was one of the most unnerving things he had ever done, diving blindly into this lightless hole miles underground. What if Lisha had grown tired of helping them, and was leading them to a watery death?